


Lost and Found

by Syrum



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Boys In Love, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Maz is the grandmother you never knew you wanted, Memory Alteration, Multiple Personalities, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Permanent Injury, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Snoke is an asshat, Torture, these guys are just a mess okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendol Hux Jr was an aspiring General within the First Order.  Kylo Ren was one of the most powerful Force users to ever live.  Together, they were two of the most feared men alive.</p>
<p>
  <i>Were.</i>
</p>
<p>Now, they're nothing.  Less than nothing.  They have nowhere to go, nowhere to run to.  They have nothing, save each other, and that's only going to get them so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> I will be adding further tags once the story progresses. Most of the tags are in warning for the second and third chapters, be wary.

“What am I?” For a moment, Hux thought he might have misheard, the words so scraping and garbled that he thought he may have mistook the _‘where’_ for a _‘what’_. The TIE fighter rumbled and shook, barely holding together and the slightest mistake would mean the end for them both. Still, he could not stop himself from turning to look, glancing behind him at the man who, by all rights, should be dead.

“ _What am I?_ ” If there had been any doubt in General Hux’s mind as to the words themselves, it was gone now, and yet the knowledge that he had in fact heard correctly provided far more questions than answers. Kylo Ren sat, or rather lay, across the single seat behind him, a chair designed to hold the rear gunner. He was bloodied and bruised and _broken_ , beyond anything Hux had seen before. He, himself, had not exactly escaped uninjured, but looking into those Force-blind unseeing eyes displaying only confusion and fear, the gash in Hux’s side and numerous blaster wounds did not seem quite so bad.

“You are Kylo Ren, formerly of the First Order.” Hux tried, voice scratching at his throat. Ren howled, then, arching up in his seat, taut as a bowstring.

“ _What am I?!_ ” The answer clearly had not been enough, Ren’s shout filling the cockpit. It was all Hux could hear for a moment, deafening within his skull as the Force-user lashed out. It wasn’t enough to damage, but it did make Hux’s vision blur slightly, his headache growing exponentially. Then, just as soon as the assault had started, it was over. Behind him, Ren curled in on himself with a ragged sob, trembling within his seat as the acrid scent of copper filled the air. Hux slumped in his seat, trying to regain his bearings, doing his best to ignore the ever growing puddle of sticky crimson around his feet. It was all he could do to fly straight; living through this would take a miracle.

The guidance system on their stolen two-man vessel was damaged beyond repair and entirely useless, the singular working engine was starting to sputter at having to work overtime with a partly-singed venting system, and Hux was slowly coming to the realisation that they weren’t likely to survive re entry to whichever planet they finally managed to find to crash land on.

_If_ they could even _find_ a planet.

Hux had, in his time at the Academy, graduated at the top of every single one of his classes, which included the compulsory pilot training. Naturally, it had been in something rather larger and more impressive than a requisitioned TIE fighter, but he still held the record for the highest scored test even to that day. Just, not with smoking engines and a whimpering, bleeding mess shivering behind him.

_His_ whimpering, bleeding mess, and Hux was damned if he was about to let Ren die.

He still wasn’t certain how he had lost their pursuers. With Ren out of action, Hux had little choice but to fly _and_ shoot at the same time, and that was something he most certainly _hadn’t_ been taught to do. Fortunately, he was a quick study, and found his rhythm swiftly enough to take out two of the enemy before they could get _him_. It wasn’t quite enough, though; too many shots had got through, damaging the ship though not quite lucky enough to destroy it, fortunately for the two inhabitants.

Cursing to himself, swallowing down the rising panic at the knowledge that they were likely going to die in deep space without anyone truly knowing what had happened, Hux threw caution to the wind and did the one thing he had been taught not, under any circumstances, to do; he began pushing buttons. Most, he knew the purpose of, and he left those well alone. Others, unlabelled and innocuous, were pressed and then pressed again, switching things on and off and hoping, _hoping_ , that none of them would activate a jump to hyperspace or a depressurisation of the cabin.

A low beep from the guidance system forced his heart up into his throat, and Hux stared at the small screen, not quite believing his eyes. It wasn’t _working_ per se, but the autopilot had engaged and, from the looks of it, was directing them to the nearest inhabited planet. To salvation.

Except, Hux realised some two and a half hours later, that wasn’t what it was doing at all. No, the autopilot was taking them on a direct course _back_ to the last set destination, and without the guidance system in full operation, they had no way of knowing where that was or, indeed, how long it might be until they arrived. Worse, he couldn’t turn the damn thing _off_ , button jammed in the ‘on’ position and refusing to budge no matter how he hammered at it.

Ren whimpered behind him, muttering something unintelligible and sounding utterly and entirely terrified. Hux could not help himself; shaking fingers unbuckled the straps around his shoulders, shucking them off so he could turn in his seat and blindly grope for something to hold onto, some warmth and comfort and _something_ as he found himself starting to come undone.

He could not afford such weakness, not now. Not yet, anyway. Not until he had found somewhere safe for them, somewhere he could seek out the medical attention Kylo needed, where they could hide, together, and never ever be found again. Pale fingers slid against dark fabric, wet with too much blood, but his hand found it’s target and he held on tight. Ren’s hand was too limp, too cold, and he knew that if they did not reach their destination soon, the Force-user was not going to make it.

“Ren…” Hux swallowed around the rising bile in his throat, voice sounding weak even to him. He was starting to feel light headed, and perhaps the wound to his side was giving him more trouble than he had tried to let on. Licking his lips, squeezing the bloodied hand within his, he tried again. “Ren, don’t you dare die on me. I won’t forgive you if you die on me, you _cannot_ leave me here like this.” Kylo’s fingers, thicker than his own and usually so strong, slid against the sticky covering to slide between Hux’s own, lacing their hands together. The action might have been comforting, if not for the undercurrent of fear, the wanted _I’m still here with you_ becoming something more like a _please, I’m frightened_ , and he hated himself for clinging to it regardless.

Hux wasn’t used to dealing with a terrified Kylo Ren. He had, before that day, been certain that fear was an emotion the Force-user was entirely incapable of feeling in any context. He had cut down his own father, for crying out loud. Even Hux would not have been capable of that much.

He really did not want to know what had happened within the man’s mind to reduce him to such a state.

The little ship shook worryingly, and Hux was forced to release Ren’s hand, turning in his seat to see what had happened. Before them, a planet loomed, large and inviting and so very _green_. His eyes skimmed over the landscape, taking in what appeared to be vast forests and open lakes, fastening the buckle across his chest as the small craft juddered and lurched, the burn of re entry highlighted in red before them. Part of the left fin broke off, and it was really a wonder that it had remained attached for quite _that_ long, dragging them to the left and Hux felt his stomach heave.

Bolts burnt away and the transparisteel canopy above his head cracked, but as the red was slowly replaced with blue, and the mass of green below began to separate out into individual trees, Hux knew they had somehow, by some impossible miracle, passed through the atmosphere of the planet. Now all they had to do was survive the landing.

Ren whimpered again behind him, and Hux was glad for the sound. Not because it meant the man was in pain, but rather because it confirmed that he was still breathing, which was all that really mattered.

The planet was beautiful. There had been very little time to simply enjoy the wonders of the universe as a cadet, and none at all as a General, despite the added privilege of being able to visit innumerable worlds and view sights many could not have imagined in their wildest dreams. There were more trees, it seemed, than stars in the sky, and the water shimmered in the mid afternoon sunlight, blue and pure and _perfect_. The occasional structure poked out from the tops of the trees, some claimed back by nature, others new and shining in their non-conformity.

Suddenly, Hux was five years old again and he wanted to visit all of them. He wanted to explore, to see what wonders they were keeping from him, muddy hands and scraped knees and _what have you got all down yourself this time, Bren?_

But he wasn’t five, and his mother wasn’t there to scold him with a twinkle in her eye and a smile threatening to tug at her lips. He was thirty four years old, alone save for the rattling breaths of the man curled up behind him as his life trickled through Hux’s fingertips, waiting for death as the ground rose up terrifyingly fast to meet them and the landing light refused to come on.

They weren’t slowing down.

The landing gear wasn’t kicking in.

_They were going to crash._

Despite the fact that there was no conceivable way they would survive a crash moving at that speed, from that angle, Hux braced for impact. Trees raced up to meet them, a rocky outcropping passing by beneath, and he was momentarily blinded by the glint of sunlight on water. 

Finally, _finally_ , at the last possible second, the forward thrusters kicked in and they began to slow at a rapid rate, even as the tops of trees and slender branches whipped at them as they passed, bending and breaking over the searingly hot metal. It was like being punched in the stomach, slowing that quickly without warning, and Hux had the air knocked out of him. Gasping down air that simply did not seem to be there, struggling to get his lungs to cooperate, he barely managed to suck in a lungful of oxygen before the front of their TIE fighter impacted, hard, with the wide trunk of a tree.


	2. Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've cut this chapter in two, purely because I felt it flowed better that way.

It was a miracle, really, that he had survived the crash with almost all of his bones intact. It was thanks, in part at least, to the sturdy design of the straps holding him to the pilot’s seat and Hux was immeasurably thankful that the designers of the more recent TIE fighter models had chosen to upgrade that particular part. The older models had, after all, been prone to failure where security features were concerned, and he wondered for a moment just how little the old empire had truly valued the lives of their pilots.

Fighter pilots were, he had discovered fairly early on in his career, rather costly to train. They had no short supply of troops who would be capable of learning - he had an entire Stormtrooper program under his command, after all - however the expense of man hours and inevitable damaged machinery was far greater than simply training a few and trying to keep them alive for as long as possible.

And that was _without_ factoring in the added bonus of experience.

They had stopped moving, finally, the TIE fighter a smouldering wreckage upon the forest floor. Hux clawed at the buckle around his chest with trembling fingers, finding that while his right arm was doing as required, the left was uncoordinated, heavy. It didn’t hurt, but there was a numbness there that might have concerned him in any other situation. The gash in his side wasn’t hurting either, and belatedly he realised that it probably still should.

Running high on the adrenaline of the crash, he managed to slide from his seat, crawling through the shattered panes of transparisteel that had once made up most of the cockpit covering. The TIE fighter had rolled back after impact, his seat tilted back at an angle that had introduced him to the branches of the tree they had crashed into when he opened his eyes after they grew still, and that made climbing from the wreckage with a half-useless arm all the more tricky.

He managed it, though, sliding down the still-hot outer casing of the ship, barely noticing the burns as he tumbled gracelessly to the moss-covered ground below. Immediately, his stomach gave in, and he vomited up what little it contained, gasping and choking as unbidden tears fell from his lashes. Angrily, he swiped at his eyes, spitting once before scrabbling to his feet. There was the smell of something slightly acrid in the air, which likely wasn’t going to be good for them in short order, and Ren still had not managed to drag himself from the wreckage.

_If he was even still alive._

Hux shook off that thought, pushing it down alongside a wave of something akin to panic. He moved stiffly, body not reacting as it normally would despite the absence of pain. He knew he would pay for the indelicate way he was treating his wounds later on, but he also knew that there wouldn’t _be_ a ‘later’ if he didn’t get them both away from the crash as quickly as possible. There were enough tales of downed TIE fighters exploding in a ball of fire and killing the pilots due to a damaged energizer, or leaking enough radioactive gas from the fuel tanks to slowly - or not so slowly - poison them, and Hux was looking forward to neither.

“Ren?” It hurt to speak, his voice little more than a husk of its former self, yet he tried anyway. “Ren, get up.” Kylo was sprawled across what had once been the rear cover of the TIE fighter, now bent and crushed, a jagged piece of transparisteel having sliced through his leg. He didn’t move, not even to whimper, and Hux found that some sick part of himself missed the noise. He hadn’t been belted in, too gone within his own mind to really comprehend what was happening to him, and Hux hadn’t thought to do the task for him either.

He was dead. He _had_ to be dead. There was no movement, nothing to indicate the man was even breathing, deathly still and all too pale against the dark swathe of his robes, the only real colour being the crimson stain of blood upon his hands and cheek.

It didn’t matter. Hux had to get him out of there anyway, regardless, he couldn’t simply _leave_ him there, not after everything that had happened. His hands wouldn’t work though, scrabbling against fabric and one of Kylo’s arms, trying desperately to pull the man closer so that they could run, _escape_. The pain was starting to return though, initial shock and pumping adrenaline leaving his system all too soon, and it was enough to make his vision blur and his elbow buckle. On his hands and knees, under the destroyed TIE fighter, Hux slowly came to the realisation that he wasn’t going to be walking away from this one. He felt lightheaded, hands still pulling uselessly at Ren’s limp, cold form, too weak for what he needed to do.

“Ren-” It was useless, entirely useless, and yet he refused to give up. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Hux shifted further under the metal structure, which groaned precariously above him. He managed to slide his good arm under Kylo’s, hooking his elbow under the larger man’s shoulder. He tugged, hard, and it was enough to bring tears to his eyes as his injuries were jostled at the movement. Again, then again, and by some miracle Ren’s body actually _moved_ , slid towards him painfully slowly.

Too slowly, apparently. A vice-like grip closed around Hux’s ankle and _pulled_ , yanking him backwards from under the wreckage, his arm pulled free from beneath Kylo’s prone form. There was noise, and pain, agony branching out from his side and his arm as both were jostled. The gash above his hip had split open again, what small amount of healing undone by rough arms. His throat hurt, burning, and it took a good few seconds for Hux to realise that he was the one producing the deafening scream that rattled around in his head.

There was pressure digging into the wound in his side, sharp as a blade, and the noise stopped, voice stalling in his throat. Something warm and firm pressed against his injured arm and side, and his legs dangled. A round, ruddy face stared down at him, small black eyes twinkling below a heavy brow, mouth pursed in a frown surrounded by far too much thick, unkempt hair. Hux managed to suck in a breath, back rigid, before his eyes rolled back in his head and the world went dark.

* * *

Something was beeping, low and steady, too close to his ear, and there was the whirr and scrape of wheels. It all seemed too loud, and when he tried to open his eyes everything was too bright. His head ached, his tongue felt too fat in his mouth, and everything below his neck seemed to be unpleasantly numb. He felt sluggish, not quite there, and it took a good few moments longer to realise why.

He had been drugged.

Forcing his eyes open, squinting against the blinding sunlight streaming in through the window behind him, Hux took stock of the room he was being held in. It was small, little more than a closet, the single bed he was presently occupying filling most of the room. The ceiling was high, seemingly _too_ high, tubing stretching from one wall to the other in what he presumed was some sort of lighting for the small space. There was a single window, not barred, and a windowed door, propped slightly open. It was basic, but at least it was clean, white walls showing no marks upon them and the air smelled fresh with only the slightest hint of disinfectant.

A small droid, no taller than his hip, was seemingly checking his vitals, changing the fluid being pumped into his arm, beeping softly to itself as it worked. It might almost be _cute_ he thought, if it wasn’t so damned irritating, rolling back and forth, paying Hux’s present state of consciousness very little attention.

Something metallic clanged loudly further down the hallway, and Hux’s eyes widened. His vision shifted and he was back aboard the Finalizer, staring up at Snoke’s hologram while the doors behind him clanged shut, echoing through the suddenly airless room.

_“You can’t do this.”_

_“I can do as I please, little General. Or, had you forgotten your place? Need I remind you of what I can do to you, even from here?” Pain, searing hot across his skull, like nothing Hux had felt before. His knees buckled and his palms hit the floor, he felt something crack._

Hux was screaming again, the sound echoing through the rooms and hallways of the unfamiliar building, piercing and desperate. He remained fixed in place, unable to move, barely able to breathe, sweat dripping from him as his face contorted in pain and fear. Footsteps, pounding against the floor outside the room, brought near by the broken noise spilling from him, yet he barely registered them.

There was the tiniest pin prick to his arm, the only sensation he could feel at all below his neck, and Hux knew no more.


	3. Maz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story...might end up a little longer than originally planned. Oops.

“Did you realise what you were saying, before?” Hux’s head lolled to the side, staring at the woman who had taken up residence at his bedside, the medical droid having vanished at some point while he was unconscious. The drugs in his system still pulled at his eyelids, coaxing them into closing once more, and he had to fight against the pull of sleep.

“Wh-” His mouth was too dry, throat too torn, the words wouldn’t come and the woman smiled. It was a sad expression, full of too much pain for someone whom he had never so much as laid eyes upon before. She was small, barely four feet in height perhaps, though it was difficult to tell precisely. The chair she occupied was too tall for her by far, and he suspected from what he _could _see that her feet were dangling some way above the polished floor. She looked old, yet somehow ageless, and a pair of large, round goggles covered a pair of brown eyes. They were kind eyes, he thought, yet there was something about them. As though they could see into his very soul.__

It might have been disconcerting, if he wasn’t so tired.

“When we found you, when Garik pulled you from your ship, you were screaming ‘Ren’ over and over.” She adjusted her goggles, the little sliders on the sides making her eyes seem larger still, and Hux swallowed around what felt like barbs in his throat. “Now, why would that be?” The question seemed rhetorical, for which Hux was pleased as he was fairly certain he would not have been able to answer it anyway.

“Boss?” A knock at the door, and the woman’s head swung around to greet the new arrival. The man filled the doorframe, too wide by far, muscle packed upon muscle and yet somehow he seemed almost timid in the presence of this tiny woman. “The healers said to tell you they’ve done all they can. He’s alive, barely.” Hux realised belatedly, as the man turned his attention upon him, that this was the same person who had dragged him from the TIE fighter, however long ago. The man, Garik, dipped his head in greeting and seemed almost pleased to see Hux awake. It was an odd sensation, the lack of hostility there.

“Excellent, thank you Garik. Be a dear and go make sure Darin and Ras aren’t destroying my bar, would you?” The man mumbled something and left, door creaking closed behind him. “It seems your friend had a lucky escape. It was touch and go, for a while, we almost lost him a few times.” Ren was alive? Hux let out a breath that he was certain he had been holding since before the crash, before the escape even, and it must have shown on his face judging by the way the woman’s expression softened slightly.

She fussed around him, for a time, speaking softly enough that it would not worsen the pounding of his head, and while he could not respond Hux found that he quite enjoyed her presence. She reminded him of someone, and he could not quite remember who. Her name was Maz, she said, and this was her establishment. Not quite so grand as it had once been, but they were rebuilding, slowly, and he could take a look around once he was feeling a little better.

He wondered at first if she had not realised who they were, just yet. There was something in the way she spoke, though, deliberately vague on some topics while overly convoluting others, and he knew that she knew. What he _didn’t_ know was whether she was a Resistance sympathiser or First Order loyalist. Either one would spell his death, at that point.

“Get some rest, my dear. The painkillers will start wearing off soon, so make the most of them while you still can.” She patted his shoulder, and he just barely felt it, offering him a soft smile before slipping near soundlessly from the room and shutting the door behind her. There was no click, no key turning in the lock. Not that Hux could have moved from the bed they had placed him in even if he had wished to, but it was still strangely calming knowing that he could up and leave should the mood take him.

_Ren was alive!_

His relief was palpable, finally letting himself feel the surging emotion within his chest that he had quashed down while Maz was present. Closing his eyes, mind clearer than it had been though exhaustion still very much present, he reached out for Ren as the Force-user had taught him to do so many cycles ago. He wasn’t Force-sensitive himself, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was _just enough_ there to be able to feed of Ren’s own energy, to pull his attention at will. It was quite a useful trick, and had never let him down so far.

There was nothing. Not even the low hum of response that he would usually receive in return whenever Kylo was sleeping, not the loud and confusing clamour of dreams, or the gentle caress of _yes, I’m here_. The silence was deafening, and for one terrible moment Hux wondered if perhaps he had been lied to, to keep him complacent. That Ren was dead. Hope dwindled within him, just a little, before his thoughts caught up and he berated himself for his own stupidity.

It made little sense to keep Ren’s death a secret, to outright lie about it even, particularly when Hux had already believed the man to have passed on. No, they could get far more from him by keeping Ren’s survival to themselves. Though that begged the question; what did they actually _want_ from him? From them? Hux drifted off to sleep with thoughts of torture and blackmail clouding his mind.

* * *

_“You are nothing. Less than nothing. I will see to it that you truly know your place before I end your miserable existence.” Arcing, lancing pain, tearing through him, his spine bowing tight enough that it threatened to snap in two. It felt as though his insides were being torn out, ripped from his belly, and if he was screaming he could neither hear nor feel it._

_The agony stopped as swiftly as it had started, and Hux was left panting and twitching upon the cold metal of the floor beneath him. It wasn’t over, not yet, wet staining his cheeks from unbidden tears and yet he remained defiant, even through the coursing terror._

_The next invasion was into his mind, body left untouched for the moment as images flashed before his eyes. He lived the terror of every single person who had died at his hand, the billions who were wiped out by the Finalizer, the agony of those who had been tortured under his command. It seemed to last for an eternity, his mind bending under the onslaught and threatening to snap. Finally, finally, the influx of terror faded and he was left with only his own fear, whimpering and shaking, his bowels long having given out within his uniform._

_“No more.” He whimpered, voice trembling uncontrollably. “Please, no more.”_

_“Poor little Brendol.” Snoke’s tone was mocking, a twisted and shattered mirror of something that once belonged to someone else. His mouth twisted into a cruel, hateful smile as he leered down at Hux. “We’ve only just begun.”_

* * *

General Hux was screaming again, loud enough to wake the dead Maz thought as she hurried back down the corridor, Garik racing off ahead, his long legs carrying him along much faster than her own short ones ever could. The sound of the General’s fear and pain echoed down the corridor, filtering even into the bar below, audible over the buzzing sounds of patrons who had not stayed away for long after the First Order attack. Some wanted to help rebuild, others had pumped credits into the project simply so that they could get a half-decent drink for once.

It was disturbing her patrons. More importantly, Maz could feel the sheer mind-numbing terror radiating from the boy, even from such a distance. He was projecting, likely without meaning to, and every Force-sensitive within sight of her cantina would have felt it. That he was able to do such a thing was intriguing, yet as she arrived at the door to his room and took in the sight before her, Maz pushed down any curiosity she might have felt, replacing it with concern for the boy.

Hux was out of bed, or at least out from under the covers, pressed back into the corner of the room at the headboard. His hands were splayed out across the walls in both directions, knees curled into his chest as his feet pushed against the white sheet that covered the mattress, trying to force himself backwards, further into the corner. If he could have disappeared into the walls, he would have, the heavy metal frame of the bed giving a low grunt as it shifted under the onslaught, pushed forwards.

Wide eyes stared sightlessly, and Hux’s lips were drawn back over his teeth, mouth still open and screams still erupting from his chest. Deep gashes lined both of his forearms, and his fingernails were stained crimson, smears of red decorating the sheets where he had lain. He was pale, near white, his red hair standing out in stark contrast and the smattering of light freckles across his nose seeming dark and inky. As Maz watched, Garik reached out for the boy, wrapping strong arms around his rigid form and drawing him out of the corner. Hux shrieked, writhing against the touch, and he managed to catch Garik’s cheekbone with his knuckles. Garik did not seem to notice, dragging Hux to his chest and holding him, firmly, in place.

He couldn’t hurt himself if he couldn’t move.

Eventually, the cries stopped, and Garik was able to better position himself to lift the trembling boy from the bed. The sheets would need to be replaced, soiled beyond repair and stained with red, and as Garik settled himself into the too-small chair with Hux curled tight against his chest, Maz got to work stripping the old ones away, replacing them quickly with fresh ones.

“I fear to think what these boys went through to leave someone like him so broken.” Tucking the sheet into place with a sigh, Maz turned her attentions back on the trembling redhead, the General seeming much too small at that moment.

“Don’t think I want to know.” Garik grunted in response, shifting slightly so that Maz could start cleaning and wrapping the open gashes on Hux’s arms. They were relatively clean, which was fortunate; calling another healer out would take time, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to expose the General to another in his present state. “Somethin’ bad, that’s for sure. The known’ of it won’t change that.”

“Perhaps.” Maz agreed, wiping off her hands once she was done on one of the cloths by the bed. She brushed a strand of red from the boy’s face, his hair having grown out of the neat-kept style she had seen in the transmissions intercepted from the First Order. They screamed of traitor-Hux, Resistance-sympathiser, and the insane Kylo Ren. They called them mad dogs, unhinged, to be cut down on sight without bias or mercy. Whatever had happened, Hux had managed to make himself another very powerful enemy, and Maz wasn’t about to simply hand him over to die.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a good three days before Hux was well enough to sit up in bed without suffering from dizzy spells, and another week on top of that until he was ready to actively wander the halls of the strange cantina that Maz not only ran but also apparently owned. She did not seem to mind his presence, letting him do as he pleased, and for that he was both grateful and perplexed. Though he avoided the bar area altogether, preferring to remain in the private back rooms out of sight, Hux learned fairly quickly that not only were the First Order actively seeking him with orders to kill on sight, but they had put a fairly sizeable bounty on his head.

One hundred and twenty thousand credits. A bounty that high was unheard of, even for diplomats and criminals of the highest order, and Hux couldn’t help but feel at least a little proud of himself, yet he could not allow himself to become lax. He was in a place frequented by First Order sympathisers, Rebellion pilots and bounty hunters of the worst sort; were anyone to spot him, he would be dead in a matter of seconds. Still, aside from the obvious danger, it was a good place to hide. No one would think to look in a place crawling with scum who would murder their own mother for a few credits. No, he was relatively safe, for the moment.

Ren was silent, dark hair fanned out across white pillows, black lashes standing out in stark relief against his cheeks. He had not stirred since the crash, and if not for the fact that he had been swathed with bandages, he might well have been sleeping. His pallor had improved notably in the past couple of days, and his breathing had eased as the worst of the damage to his lungs began to heal, yet still he did not wake.

Hux had spent much of his time at the Force-user’s side, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, waiting for Kylo’s eyes to snap to him and berate him for feeling _too much_. For caring. It was a weakness, he knew, and yet after what they had been through he was certain he could be afforded some small measure of frailty.

It hurt, seeing him that way, knowing that it was at least in part his fault that Ren had been so badly hurt - _entirely his fault_ , his mind supplied. If he had taken his punishment quietly rather than crying out, if he had accepted death without reaching desperately for life, Ren would still be healthy and whole rather than languishing upon a too-small cot on a planet inhabited by murderers and thieves.

Hux let his hand wrap around Ren’s, lacing their fingers together. His own were trembling ever so slightly and he could not initially fathom as to why. Eventually the truth of it hit him; Ren _felt_ dead. Or, rather, he felt too normal. The lack of response to his projections towards the man had stretched on, drawing out into what felt like forever, the usual power Ren exuded entirely lacking from him. Even in sleep, even immediately after the battle with the scavenger girl, Hux could feel him, lingering in the back of his mind. Gathering him from the blood-soaked snow unconscious and bleeding out, bundling him into Ren’s own ship, even then he could feel the power radiating off the other man, the always-there presence.

Now, there was nothing. Not even a ripple of Force energy.

“You should try to eat something.” He had heard Maz enter, yet hadn’t turned to greet the small woman. There was the clack of metal on wood and the rattle of cutlery as she placed a tray down upon the table at the foot of Ren’s bed. Hux thought, for a moment, to pull his hand back and away, but she had already seen it so what was the point? He had a feeling she had known long before that moment, and had said nothing.

“I haven’t had much of an appetite of late.” Hux was trying not to sound too much like a petulant child, and he wasn’t certain if he managed it. He could feel Maz shifting to the side of him but still did not raise his head, eyes locked on the hand within his own, fingers tightening slightly as though afraid he might be torn away.

“Just try, when you feel ready.” Her hand was on his shoulder, slender fingers squeezing gently, and Hux knew he should pull away, scorn the woman for trying. She was showing far too much care for a man who had murdered billions in cold blood, and that made her weak in his eyes.

Or would have done, not too long ago. Now, the thought made his stomach shift and drop, and he thought for a moment he might be sick. He was leaning into her touch without realising it, and pulling away was no longer an option, fragile enough to break were she to leave him at that point, and he had no idea how to start putting the pieces of himself back together.

“He’s going to wake up soon.” Maz hummed low in her throat and Hux stiffened in his seat, not entirely certain how she knew, or if he could trust her judgement on the matter. She must have felt his apprehension because the hand upon his shoulder tightened briefly and was gone. He missed it almost instantly, felt childish for doing so, and remained silent on the matter. “His mind is damaged, there’s no way to say _who_ he will be when he wakes. You will need to be ready for that.”

“How badly damaged?” Hux’s voice was quiet, barely audible even in the quiet room, and he refused to acknowledge the slight waver in his tone. Of course Ren would have been damaged by Snoke’s onslaught; Hux’s punishment was nothing in comparison to what had happened to the other man, and it had been _entirely unnecessary_.

“There’s no way to tell, not yet.” Glancing over at her, Hux did not miss the grim expression upon Maz’s face, or the sad glaze of her large eyes as she stared at the prone form on the bed. There was something there, some history that Hux had no intention of asking about, a familiarity that had perhaps been responsible for Maz’s decision to offer them sanctuary.

“It was my fault.” The words slipped out, unbidden, and once aired he could not take them back. He was not Ren, did not have the control over the minds of others that he would have needed to pretend he had not uttered those four, damning words.

“You’re blaming yourself, because you couldn’t protect him. I understand that, but you must realise that-”

“I’m blaming myself because I’m the reason he’s here, in this bed, barely clinging to life.” Hux snapped, his gaze turning cold and yet Maz did not flinch, did not pull away. Instead, it seemed as though she dug her heels in further, eyes narrowing. “If I hadn’t been so _weak_ , none of this would have happened.” Kylo would still be Snoke’s pet dog, Hux would have died, the universe would have continued on as it should have. And yet, he was _alive_ , and Ren had been broken in his stead.

“You think yourself weak?” Maz shook her head, anger flaring within her. Not at him, never at him, but at the life that had forced Hux into believing compassion to be worthless and love an impossibility. “You, who managed to drag Kylo Ren from the jaws of the Order. Who stole a TIE fighter, escaped enemy fire, who _fought back_ against one of the strongest forces in the galaxy and _won_. Does any of that, truthfully, sound weak to you?” She had seen some of what went on inside his head, if not all, and the rest had been filled in with propaganda from both sides.

Hux remained silent, shaking slightly in his seat, gripping Ren’s hand a little too hard but he needed an anchor. Something to keep him there. What could he say to that, really? She could not understand what he had seen, what had been _forced_ into his head, and what he had been witness to as Snoke cut down Ren before his eyes.

Not even Snoke himself, just Snoke’s presence, projected up from the planet below as they sat in orbit. He hadn’t wanted to see them, to look upon the faces of those who had failed him so completely.

No, she couldn’t possibly ever hope to understand, and Hux hadn’t wanted her to. He did not want her pity, wasn’t certain he could stand it, and did not wish to speak the traitorous thoughts that span through his mind. He had been trained, from birth almost, to be an officer of the First Order, to follow orders and remain the loyal, good little soldier. Now, with everything torn open and his mind laid bare, he had started to doubt. Started to wonder if, maybe, they weren’t the bastions of law and order they professed to be after all. He had been conditioned not to doubt, had no idea what he was meant to do with the little voice whispering to him that maybe, just maybe, he’d been wrong his entire life.

And all because he had fallen in love with the _wrong person_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight POV change for this one!

He awoke to the sound of screams. They were nothing like he had heard before, the sound piercing through the otherwise still air of night, build of abject terror and despair. He was up out of bed without even a thought, chasing after the sounds, ignoring the ache of his body and the pull of stitches as he moved. There was a slow build of panic, rising in his chest, and he pushed past the pain, bare feet pounding against the stone floor of the corridor.

It took only moments to reach the room, to push open the door and step inside. The room had been turned on its head; sheets - ripped and bloodied - were torn from the bed, a chair toppled, the remains of what might have been last night’s dinner strewn across the floor. He might have missed the small, huddled form in the corner altogether, if not for the piercing shriek that threatened to burst his eardrums. He was on his knees in a second, crouched over the pale, shaking man, wide glassy eyes staring not at him but _through_ him. It was disconcerting, he didn’t wish to look. So, reaching out, he took the slender redhead into his arms and cradled him against his chest.

The sounds stopped almost immediately, cut off with a low, choked cry as hands gripped at the thin cloth of his nightwear, desperate and scrabbling as an ice-cold nose pressed up under his chin. They sat there for what seemed like an age, pressed together until his feet began to go numb from the cold, yet he did not wish to let go. What had spooked this man so badly that he could produce sounds such as those? There were gashes up his arms, deep and angry, blood rich and red soaking into the grey tunic that almost matched his own.

He did not move again until the man had drifted back off into a light slumber, though it was unclear as to whether he had actually awoken to begin with. Red hair tickled at his nose, and though the scent of blood masked most of it, he could detect a hint of nutmeg and cloves as he inhaled. It seemed familiar, yet he could not place it. Holding the man tightly to his chest, he moved to carefully stand, chest protesting as it pulled at stitches he could not remember needing. The man was too light for his frame, bones far too prominent, and he knew he could snap them in an instant if he so wished.

One further glance around the room told him all he needed to know; the terrified redhead could not remain here, the room was unfit for purpose and he would not have known where to find replacement sheets had he wished to - it wasn’t as though he had particularly looked the last time he was there, and the place seemed to have changed somewhat since then. Not that he wished to leave the man alone, anyway. Padding quietly back down the hall, he managed to make his way back to the room he had awoken in without his precious cargo waking. He would have liked to have bathed the man properly before laying him upon the single bed within the room, yet there did not seem to be the facilities for that from what he could see; there was a bowl in the corner with water in, fresh towels and bandages piled up, and they would have to do.

Not wishing to wake his precious cargo and potentially frighten him further, he placed the still slumbering form down upon the bed, careful to keep the worst of the mess up off the covers. Cleaning the gashes upon his arms took time, delicate fingers wrapping gauze bandages over the wounds to keep infection out until they could be properly treated. With the worst of the blood washed away, he could see that this was not the first time the redhead had gauged chunks from his own arms, some wounds older than others, reopened under the onslaught.

The man was shivering slightly by the time he was done, brow creasing and skin like ice. Without really thinking, he shifted the redhead so that he might tug the sheets from beneath his trembling form, pulling them up to tuck beneath the man’s chin. His bloodied sleepwear would likely stain the bed, but at least he should be comfortable and a little warmer. His own feet were freezing, and it was tempting to slide beneath the covers as well, yet even he thought that to be a little strange.

“I wish I knew your name.” He murmured, more to himself than to the form sleeping in his bed. The man was handsome, that much was certain, and he felt a flutter of something within his chest. Reaching out, he brushed sweat-drenched hair from the man’s forehead, the copper strands sticking stubbornly, and the crease on his brow seemed to even out a little.

“You’re awake.” Snatching his hand back, a guilty expression on his face, he turned to greet the new arrival, recognising her voice instantly. He had not heard her enter, but then Maz was surprisingly good at remaining undetected, despite her usual larger-than-life presence. She was watching him, expression one of caution with something sad hidden beneath, and he was struck by how little she had changed since the last time they had met.

“Looks like it.” He replied, somehow nervous, not liking the cool air that seemed to surround her. Maz, who had always had a kind smile and a hidden cookie if he had been good. Maz, who berated his father for his often errant behaviour, who fawned over Chewbacca until both he and his father made retching noises at the pair, before descending into fits of giggles. Something felt off, as though she barely recognised him - it had not been so many years since his last visit, surely? “Maz? It’s me.” He smiled, wide enough to show a flash of teeth, feeling an unfamiliar tug across his cheek, but he would worry about that later. Her eyes widened at that, fingers fumbling over the slider to adjust her goggles, then widening further still as they were magnified behind the glass. A multitude of expressions flitted over her face; shock to fear, then pain, wistful longing and compassion, gone too quickly to follow before finally settling on hope.

“Ben?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state, for the record, that this is not a Kylo redemption fic. Well, not entirely anyway. He's still an ass.


	6. Reunited

It wasn’t unusual for Hux to find someone else in his room when he awoke some mornings; Garik would occasionally check on him, presumably to ensure he hadn’t killed himself in the night, and Maz liked to bring breakfast up herself, often redressing his injuries when she did so. Not once had she mentioned the gauges that often appeared overnight, calmly cleaning the blood from under his nails and cleaning up whatever mess he had made. He appreciated her, for that. Sometimes one of the girls she had working the bar would do it, paying him no heed as they left whatever food had been cooked up that morning, so it was no surprise to wake and find that he was not alone.

Waking in someone else’s bed, however, in a room not entirely unlike his own, was something of a shock. He knew, even before opening his eyes, that he was not in his own bed; the sheets were heavier, the pillows carried a familiar scent that was not his own and, as Hux blinked blearily up at the ceiling, the lights were in the wrong place.

The breathing he could hear, aside from his own, would not have concerned him overly, if not for the fact that whoever it was had not made any other sound since Hux had awakened. Either they were trying to remain purposefully quiet so as not to be detected by the General, and were doing a frightfully poor job of it, or they hadn’t realised he had awoken as yet. The latter, he realised, upon turning his head to view the mess of dark mane and lanky frame that was all too familiar to him. Kylo stood before the singular mirror in the room, not having so much as looked Hux’s way, and he was trailing gentle fingers over the violent pink slash that marred his face. He looked troubled, from what Hux could see. His posture was wrong, lacking his usual overconfidence, and it didn’t appear he had bothered with a comb since he had regained consciousness.

Hux must have made a noise, or broadcast his presence without meaning to, as Ren turned in surprise to look at him. That should have been his first indication that all was not right with the man; the wide-eyed curiosity, then the almost shy smile that twitched at the corners of those full lips. Later, he might berate himself for not realising, but Hux felt such a wash of relief at knowing that Ren was not only alive, but _awake_ and seemingly fine, he could not help returning the expression. It felt strange on his face, the genuine smile stretching in such a peculiar way compared to the false ones he wore for those higher than himself and his near-perpetual sneer. It dropped quickly, though the relief remained, and as Ren took a seat on the edge of the bed he was only barely able to refrain from dragging the man down to his chest and holding him there.

“You’re awake.” His throat was dry, cracked from the overuse it suffered most nights. The memories of the dream still lingered, twisted variations of the truth. He had watched Ren die, again, last night. At his hand. Another one of the ‘visions’ Snoke had placed there to torment him, to watch him suffer.

“So are you.” Ren’s tone was soft, teasing, with a gentleness to it that he hadn’t believed the man capable of. One large hand reached out to brush red hair back from his forehead, and it seemed so natural that Hux wondered just how many times he had done it before. He could not help himself, leaning into the touch as a man starved, eyelashes fluttering against freckled cheeks.

“They weren’t certain if you would be yourself when you regained consciousness.” Hux forcibly dragged himself away from the comfort of that touch, surprised that he had not yet been berated by the knight for his momentary lapse. It was unlike Ren to allow such things, and that he had seemed to speak volumes. A glass was pressed into his hand, though Ren had not touched it, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s blatant misuse of the Force. “I was-” He stopped, cutting the word off with a noncommittal noise before hiding behind the rim of the glass, taking a long drink of the cool water within, not quite ready to voice his concern aloud. Ren would understand, whether he voiced it or not, and when long fingers tangled with his own he almost startled.

“I’m not so sure that I am.” Ren was giving him an odd look, pain reflecting behind his eyes. He looked so open and lost, fragile, as though he might break into pieces at any moment. Hux had no idea what Snoke had done to him, what had been twisted and shattered inside his knight’s mind, only that Kylo’s screams still echoed in his ears and the resulting agony - Snoke had thought it best to share that with him - was beyond anything he could stand.

“What did he do to you?” His hands were shaking, and Hux had to force down a particularly painful and damaging memory before the panic could set in. The glass was gently tugged free and he did not fight it, knowing that the alternative would be to drop it. Ren had reached out physically that time, fingers brushing atop his own, and the touch helped somehow.

“I don’t know.” Shaking his head, expression creasing into a frown, Ren stared down at their joined hands as he settled himself once more. His fingers gave a light squeeze, and Hux replied in kind, not quite ready to give up the unfamiliar yet comforting touch. “I have no memory of any of what happened. I’m missing quite a few memories, it seems.”

“Such as?” If his voice wavered, Hux chose to ignore it. If his hand trembled, he held on a little tighter. He wasn’t afraid, not really; it was closer to a mild panic, one he kept trying to swallow down, one he wasn’t ready to face the reasons for quite yet. If Ren had forgotten, had been stripped of his memories of their time together, Hux wasn’t entirely certain what he would do.

_Seduce him again, the first time wasn’t so difficult_. There was a touch of desperation to his thoughts, and he quashed them as swiftly as they appeared.

“This, for one.” Ren continued as though nothing was amiss, free hand reached up to trail along the edge of the scar, the pink tissue looking less angry than it had, yet it was still clearly in the process of healing and would be tender for a while. “I know my cousin gave it me, using my grandfather’s lightsaber, but I don’t remember why. She was angry, I can still taste her fury, but I don’t know what I did to cause it.”

“How much do you remember about Starkiller, about the work we were doing there?” _How much do you remember about me?_ He didn’t want to voice the question, not out loud, knowing the answer could very well tear him in two. Hux knew that the prolonged torture at the hands of Snoke had left him weakened, mentally more than physically; he was well aware of the fine line he walked between redemption and insanity. Ren’s newly discovered selective amnesia was not helping matters.

“Almost nothing. A name, or a face, or a few words spoken. Fond memories, but nothing in between.” Ren paused, worrying at his lower lip, the gesture so uncharacteristic it made Hux’s blood run cold. “I know your face, I remember-” He cut himself off, flushing heavily, and Hux wasn’t certain he had ever seen Ren _blush_ before. It might have been sweet, if it wasn’t so entirely terrifying.

“Oh.” Something ached in his chest, something he wasn’t quite ready to put a name to. It was the same thing that had prompted him to drag Kylo’s almost entirely unresponsive body into that TIE fighter and pilot them both to the middle of who knows where. No matter where he went, only death would follow Hux now, but Ren at least had a chance of survival. Away from Snoke, away from the First Order, maybe.

“You did all that, for me?” There was a touch of reverence to Ren’s tone, and his eyes had widened, taking on a glassy sheen and for one terrible moment Hux thought the man might burst into tears.

“You’re in my head?” He replied, with less venom than he had intended, yet Ren had at least the good grace to look guilty. Another expression he had never before witnessed, Hux thought to himself.

“Sorry, it just...happened.” Ren was worrying at his lip again, and Hux scowled at him as a split formed, red smearing across his teeth for a moment before being licked away. “It feels familiar, but I don’t know why. Feels like home.” That floored Hux, for a moment, and he forgot to breathe. Eyes wide, heart beating against his ribcage loud enough that he was certain Ren might hear it, he opened his mouth as though to speak before closing it again, not entirely certain what to say. He had so many questions, and yet he couldn’t put a voice to any of them, and now Kylo had removed his ability to speak entirely with three little words.

Ren did not seem to notice his distress, or if he had he said nothing on the matter, staring down at their joined hands with the smallest of smiles on his lips. He remained silent for a long while, simply sitting there, long enough that the General was able to slowly piece his faculties back together and attempt, somewhat futilely, to slide the mask of indifference back into place. Each time Ren’s hand gave his own a squeeze though, each twitch of fingers reminding him of the warmth that had bloomed within him at the touch, the mask shattered and he had to start all over again.

He was, he thought with a wry smile, entirely fucked.

“It’s strange.” Hux wasn’t certain how long that had been sitting like that, by the time Ren broke the silence that had fallen between them. Long enough for the sunlight to have moved from the wall to the chair, and for the bustle and noise of the cantina to reach to the upper floors of the castle it was housed within. “When I heard you screaming, when I found you last night, all I wanted to do was to protect you from whatever was hurting you. Now, I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.” He had flushed, again, and Hux wasn’t certain if the rise of red to Ren’s cheeks was embarrassment at the admission or recalling another memory. He seemed too far away to reach, and the General could not help but hold on a little tighter.

“I was screaming?” It shouldn’t have surprised him, really; dreams that felt like reality, blood on his hands in both the literal and figurative sense, waking with his own arms gauged to pieces to try and claw the visions out.

“A nightmare, I think. I wasn’t in your head then, you were blocking me out.”

“It wasn’t intentional.” Hux replied without thinking, regretting his words as soon as they spilled from his lips for their sentimentality. “The nightmares are fairly frequent, don’t trouble yourself with them.”

“I can help.” Ren had turned that doe-eyed expression on him, and Hux found his pulse racing once more as the knight folded their joined hands between them so that he might lean over the General. “Let me help. Tonight.”

“Help how?” He was genuinely curious, and while Hux had never had reason to consider the possibility before, it made sense that Ren would be able to enter into his dreams and, for lack of better phrasing, adjust them. He had seen the man change memories in others before, add false ones, nothing big yet it was still impressive to see the results. Why would doing so in sleep, in real time, be any different?

“I can try to suppress them, so that even if I can’t stop them completely, at least you should be able to fight your way out of them.” He could feel Ren’s breath ghosting over his lips and chin, and oh how Hux _wanted_. He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t, this man above him wasn’t his Ren. He was too sentimental, too sweet and kind and almost _loving_. It might have, at one point, made him sick to his stomach at the mere thought of such a change, yet now he found guilt in place of disgust. This was his doing, after all.

“If you think it will work.” Hux let his eyes flicker down to lips that twitched up into a small smile, before Ren was on him. The kiss was familiar enough that Hux found himself groaning into it, arms looping around Ren’s neck to keep him there, keep him close for a time. The tongue that flicked between his parted lips seemed almost hesitant, tasting and retreating, and yet there was a certain playfulness to it that Hux chased after. Ren accepted him with a small sigh of pleasure, letting Hux plunder his mouth as he pleased. 

When they parted, too soon for either of their liking, they were both breathing heavily, faces flushed. Ren’s weight was enough to keep Hux in place, chest to chest, not that he wished to move particularly. Those ridiculously long legs had curled up onto the bed at some point, one ankle hooked around Hux’s own foot, only the barrier of sheets separating them from one another. Ren moved to rest his forehead atop Hux’s own, simply watching him for a time.

“Would now be a good time to admit, I don’t actually know your name?” There was the starts of a roguish grin upon Ren’s face, eyes sparkling with an excitement that seemed to belong there, and Hux found himself barking out a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Hux,” He replied, tongue flicking out to brush his own kiss-swollen lips. “Brendol Hux.” He purposefully left his title unspoken, fairly certain it had been nullified by his actions the past few weeks anyway. It ached a little, knowing that such a huge part of his identity had simply vanished, something that he had worked towards his entire life suddenly gone. He could not dwell on it, though, pushing that down to live with the rest of the thoughts and feelings he wished he could simply erase entirely.

“Brendol.” Ren tried, testing the name on his tongue. It sounded strange, coming from him; Hux wasn’t certain the Force-user had ever spoken his given name before. Thinking on it, he wasn’t sure if Ren had actually known his full name, or perhaps he hadn’t cared to know. “I’m Ben. Ben Solo.”

“Ben?” Hux felt his own eyes widen, blood roaring in his ears as he stared up at the man who both was and wasn’t the lover he had taken to his bed not so long ago. Ben Solo, the man Ren claimed to have replaced, to have destroyed within himself, who was good and pure and _Resistance_.

What had Snoke _done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me when I say there's a reason 'Ben' is as sweet as he is in this, and it's not simple memory loss.


End file.
